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When someone is born into my family, another will die.
The phone call from my dad telling me that my cousin had gone into labour had me packing a bag and jumping on the first ferry to Dusk. I hadn’t returned to the island I grew up on in years, and without this family emergency, I would have stayed away years longer.
I stood at the ferry railing, the salty air grating its way into my lungs. An acidic burn rose in my stomach as the ferry steered around jagged cliffs topped with thick forests.
Located way off the coast of France, Dusk welcomed thousands of supernatural tourists every year. For them, this island granted them freedom to be unapologetically magical in their downtime. For me, Dusk was home to a feud with deadly consequences.
I kept a hand on my coat pocket to sense any incoming calls. My dad wasn’t one to text, especially at a time like this. I just hoped that my friends were.
Kira, Alison, and I had grown up together and even if we hadn’t seen each other face-to-face in a while, we regularly had video chats. They had even visited me in London a few times, though neither one of them enjoyed the city as much as I did. I couldn’t bring myself to text them until I got on the ferry, and neither one had responded yet.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Even if they never got the chance, my last texts to them were sweet enough to serve up for dessert. If I was the one to die when this baby arrived, they would know I loved them.
Wooden docks zigzagged out from Newferry Port, and the spread of colourful storefronts that ran along the edge of the adjacent beach grew larger the nearer we drew.
The metal railing chilled my palms as I grasped it with both hands.
A long time ago, one of my ancestors had murdered a member of another ancient family in our very home. And with a bow forged from Dusk’s Tree of Life, no less.
Almost simultaneously, a member of the Everhart family had killed another of my ancestors with a potion brewed from the heart of a dryad. Ever since, both our families were cursed to lose a relative whenever a baby was born.
The Arrowoods and Everharts were two families of witches that had hated each other since before the curse had fixed itself to us, and they wouldn’t stop anytime soon.
I tapped the railing with my thumb as the ferry approached the dock. An ache rippled up my stomach and into my chest.
I wanted to see my dad. The constant feuding and fighting had made me want to put as much distance between me and Dusk as possible.
But what if, in doing so, I had just cut down the time I had left with my dad?
The curse had taken my mother the day I was born. He was the only parent I had left.
The ferry hadn’t even stopped before I hopped the railing with my rucksack and suitcase and made off down the dock. I ignored the disgruntled shouts of an attendant behind me. Health and safety regulations wouldn’t do much today if the curse had already marked this day as my last.
I pushed through the door into the waiting area, a fancy glass building with shiny turnstiles and plush seats. Only one man paced back and forth by the door, his mahogany hair peppered with more grey every year. He wore a red checkered jacket, loose threads tapering along his sleeves.
Every line on his face ran deep with a fear that always lay just beneath the surface. A fear I had brushed off until I learned about my cousin’s pregnancy.
“Maeve.” Dad spotted me before I could call for him, and he dashed to meet me as I extricated myself from the turnstile.
I had barely dropped my bags in time before he wrapped me up in a hug.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
We stood there for several moments, in the way of the influx of tourists who streamed past us with grunts and grumbles.
“How was your trip?” Dad asked when he finally released me and picked up my suitcase.
“Fine.” A wave of unease overcame me.
Were we really going to act like this was a normal visit? As if neither one of us was at risk of dropping dead at any moment?
But that was apparently all the small talk Dad had in him. We put my bags in the trunk of his green Toyota and once we were in our seats, doors closed, the silence needled me with words I had to speak. But Dad beat me to it.
“Have you done something with your hair?” he asked as he started the engine.
“Huh? No.” I took a lock between my fingers and held it up to my eyes.
Ebony from day one, my hair had a few blue tones when it caught the right light. According to Dad, Mum’s hair had been the same.
